


Beyond the Highland Mist

by Starshaker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Fish out of Water, Light-Hearted, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Scotland, Short, Threats, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshaker/pseuds/Starshaker
Summary: Written as part of the Destiel Harlequin Challenge





	Beyond the Highland Mist

The air was humid dull and the ground wet but that seemed the only similarity that this place had with where he had been only a moment ago. The alleyway had disappeared, as had the fae creature who he’d realised only a moment too late had him in it’s sights. No light determined which way would grant him a reprieve. No buildings to steady his steps and his every footfall seemed to sink him further into the mud. Dean swore under his breath and used a nearby tree branch to pull himself out of the mud. His phone battery at five percent only managed a measly light for a couple of minutes, long enough for him to reach a low hill in what could have been marsh land. Finally up ahead, possibly a mile or so away, a dozen faint lights peppered the darkness. With a short vibration the phone went dead in his hand but at least now he had a direction. Dean shoved it into his back pocket. His feet sank into the earth with every step but at no point after that did he get stuck again which was a blessed relief. His jeans were caked with wet mud, his shirt clung to him and he crossed his arms to keep himself a little warmer than he might otherwise. 

As he neared the source of the lights they grew into a series of stone buildings. Animal brays and snorts carried from nearby barns. The houses certainly didn’t have any modern features, thatched and slate roofs, wooden doors and it was candlelight in the windows that had brought him towards their promise of safety. He carried on forwards, grateful that his steps were on a worn but solid path now instead of sodden earth. Raucous laughter erupted from a building up ahead when someone opened the door and stumbled out. Dean kept back in the shadows as the guy grabbed ahold of the doorframe and took a deep breath before he straightened his back and took a few shaky steps in the opposite direction. The man paused rubbed his stomach and let out a long burp, sighed and carried on his way. Dean waited until he faded into the shadows and he footsteps could no longer be heard before he moved again. He crept forwards and glanced inside the windows, a sign creaked overhead declaring it an inn but Dean couldn’t see any name beyond that. Over two dozen people were inside from what he could tell before someone blocked his view by stepping in front of the window. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but their clothes looked like recommissioned potato sacks and coarsely woven overjackets.

“Yer here for the Wapinshaw?” Dean turned at the sound of the voice and realised he was being watched from the shadows himself. A thick scottish accent masked a question Dean didn’t catch.

“Uh no,” He said, Denying everything was probably better than posing the questions that circled in his own thoughts, “I think i’m just passing through,”

“Not many people do that up here,” The man said, he kicked off front the wall, “Either way you’ll want a room for the night,” The man caught his arm and Dean was dragged inside the tavern. The music silenced, as did the conversations as everyone turned to stare. 

“Guess who was spying on his competition through the window,” The man who’d strong armed him in the door said as he stepped away to the bar and sidled up to another group.

“Call that spying, I’ve seen him around town all day,” Someone spoke up. A number of laughs cut through the quiet and conversations resumed in pockets around the room. When Dean turned to look he found the comment had come from a young man in the corner of the room. There was heavy scarring across his face and his eyes didn’t focus; never the less he sat grinning as he own remark. The table at his side was covered in full tankards. 

“Do yeh need a room for the night?” The barman asked When Dean cast his eyes back around the tavern.

“I don’t have any money with me,” Dean said as waited for the order to get out.

“Those damn bandits again, eh?” The bartender said and shook his head as he wiped a dirty towel over a pattern of spills on the bar. 

“I’ll pay for his room,” Dean looked up to see another man stepping through the crowds. He was dressed in far neater clothes than his peers, a royal blue waistcoat beneath a thick leather coat that curled around his collar and fell to past his knees. “You are here for the Wapinshaw I take it,” He asked as he pushed a coin across the bar to the innkeep. 

“I have no idea why i’m here,” Dean said, “ and no offense but I wasn’t planning on sticking around,”

“There’s a challenge that might earn you enough to get by,” The man suggested. He tilted his head to one side and kept his eyes trained on Dean despite the whispers and hushed voices seemed to spin out around them. “You look the fighting type,” He said.

“Who do you think you are man? I’ve got nothing but the shirt on my back and you want a fight,” Dean said.

“Or are you a coward who will not defend himself,” The man asked as a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth and he drew his eyes up from Dean’s chest to his face. 

“I’m no coward, but I am definitely in the wrong place and time,”

“A bet then. You seem the type more convinced by what he’ll win,”

“You think I’m greedy,” Dean asked.

“I think your measure is in what you deserve,”

“What’s the bet?” 

“If you win, you can have as all the other competitors are offered. My land and title,”

“You something important round here then?” Dean asked

“I am Castiel of the Angels, the the laird of everything from the south border to the horizon,” He said. For a split second Dean wondered if this were all a prank. Castiel of the Angels sounded like something from one of Charlie’s LARPing events.

“Pretty title but not something I’d be interested in,” Dean said and shrugged. 

“Then you may win anything my resources can afford you,”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, “And if you win?”

“I win you,” He said, “Your hand in marriage to be precise, ”

“I wasn’t planning on sticking around,” Dean said, 

“All the more for me to win,” Castiel said, “When I win, and every time we fight and I win, you will love me a little more,”

“Sounds more like a curse than a bet,” Dean said and the second he’d spoken he saw Castiel bristle and raised his chin in subtle defiance.

“Love often is,,” Castiel said, “And well, I am of the Angels,” as he turned away. Dean glanced up to the group by the bar and the innkeeper motioned to two full drinks on the counter and gestured over to Castiel. He wondered if he’d already agreed to Castiel’s bet without saying so outright. It didn’t seem to matter. He picked up the two drinks and crossed to Castiel’s table.

“Do you proposition everyone you fight?” He asked as he set the two drinks on the table and moved to sit across the bench.

“Only ones like you it seems,” Castiel said. Now in relative privacy he kept his eyes on the table. A leather bound journal lay on the table at his elbow. 

“Like me?” Dean asked. 

“I’ve not met anyone who stirs me like you do,”

 

After the fight Dean retreated to the tent as the cheers for Castiel grew deafeningly loud. A crude mirror stood in one corner and Dean can see the damage Castiel has done to him. A few cuts had caught him entirely unaware but most he had seen coming and could do little to halt their course. Castiel was strong, faster and strategic. He rubbed his neck where Castiel’s blade had hovered. Dean had been knocked to his knees and Castiel caught him from behind with an iron hold. He could still hear Castiel’s words in his mind asking him if he ceded defeat. 

The thing was Dean had figured about thirty seconds in that the hits he landed on Castiel hadn’t slowed him in the slightest.

He’d and felt the blade cut straight through the side of Castiel’s chest plate, felt it sink into the flesh and muscle and when he pulled back he’d left the knife there. Castiel had cocked his head to one side pulled the knife from his side and dropped it to the floor. No blood. No hesitation. 

In the reflection Dean’s eyes caught movement by the entrance of the tent and his breath caught when Castiel stepped inside. 

Castiel approached him from behind but Dean didn’t turn; daren’t. He doesn’t have any defense at this point. Thousands of miles and thousands of years from home.

Castiel puts his right arm across Dean’s chest from behind, his hand a firm hold on Dean’s left upper arm as he holds his sword across in front of them both. He low voice rumbles as he speaks and Dean can feel the vibrations through his chest. 

“You fought well,” Castiel said, “I’m glad I won,”

“I’m not one to be a sore loser, but I don’t think that was an even match,” Dean said. Castiel stepped away and Dean watched him in the mirror as he moved towards the exit.

“Wait, you said something before. That every fight I lose to you...” Dean started, and then wondered why he had. Castiel cast his eyes to the floor as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m almost certain we’ll argue and fight each other a great many times, Dean,” Castiel said, “And when I lose I will love you in return,” Castiel glanced up and out through the open flap of the tent, “The coach will be ready to leave in a short while.”

“Where are we going?” Dean asked,

“To my home, beyond the highland mist,”


End file.
